


Worship

by Elfbert



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-09
Updated: 2011-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft insists on having the lights off when he and Lestrade have sex (body image issues). One night, Lestrade gets fed up, ties Mycroft to the bed, flips on the lights, and touches him AAAAAAAALL over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worship

 

 

Lestrade finally undid the last of the buttons on Mycroft's waistcoat, and pushed his hands inside, sliding them over the fine cotton of his shirt, feeling the solidity of his ribs, and then, lower, the softness of his belly. He pulled Mycroft close, hands sliding down, over the smooth, expensive cloth of the trousers and kneading Mycroft's bum.

 

They had been steadily making their way along the corridor and to the bedroom, and as soon as they were inside Lestrade felt himself being shoved back against the wall, Mycroft's hips pushing against him, hands tugging his shirt from his waistband.

 

"Mmmm," Lestrade moaned, as he felt Mycroft's hands tug on his belt, then undo the waistband of his trousers.

 

His clothes hanging off him, Lestrade couldn't wait to get out of them, get Mycroft naked, and fall onto the large bed.

 

Of course he was expecting the hand to snake over his shoulder and flick the lights off. He'd been with Mycroft nearly a year, and he had yet to see Mycroft spread out on the bed, naked, waiting for him to savour every moment of every touch. No, it always got to about this stage – clothes still on, if dishevelled, and then darkness.

 

Lestrade made short work of the buttons on his own shirt, still kissing Mycroft, and dropped his suit jacket and shirt on the floor, before stepping forward, pushing Mycroft back, dropping his trousers as Mycroft was still shedding his three-piece suit.

 

And finally, after a week of Mycroft being in God-knows-where-istan and Lestrade chasing a murderer around London, they were in bed, skin on skin, soft mouths, hard cocks and not much patience.

 

Lestrade just wished he could actually see Mycroft – and not by the paltry light that managed to sneak around the blinds, but properly see him. He slid his hands down Mycroft's torso, loving the feel of smooth skin, the light soft hair on his chest, the velvet softness of skin on the hard dick as his fingers closed around it.

 

Even as Mycroft's own fingers trailed down his body, between his legs, cold lube finally sliding across his arse, Lestrade was already plotting. And although he'd forgotten all about his plans within the next ten minutes, as Mycroft fucked him hard, he remembered them again the next day, as he shifted slightly uncomfortably in his seat, a smile flitting across his face at both the memories and the plan.

 

 

*********

 

 

It wasn't easy, doing anything remotely sneaky, when you were going out with Mycroft Holmes. But Lestrade thought he'd managed it. He'd done all the shopping he needed to in his lunch breaks, he'd managed to get the stuff home on days when he knew he'd get back before Mycroft would, and had hidden it as well as he could. He stood at the kitchen worktop, slicing up shallots. He could feel his heart rate was higher than normal. He stared into the peppercorn sauce he was making, and tried to calm down. Two minutes later he opened the wine he'd bought. He poured half a glass and glanced at his watch. None of this was odd – he often made dinner, when he had time, he often started on the wine before Mycroft got home. Nothing was unusual. But he just knew Mycroft would know something was up. He really needed to find a way to stop himself giving away his plan before Mycroft was even through the door.

 

He finished chopping the vegetables, downed the last gulp of his wine and headed upstairs. He dumped his clothes on the bed and stepped into the bathroom, turning the shower on and waiting for a few moments as the water ran hot. His mind was already moving to the plan he had for later, and his cock was stiffening.

 

He rubbed shampoo through his hair, then lathered up with shower gel, his hand gently cupping his balls, squeezing them gently, before he finally closed his fist around himself. It didn't take long before he was coming hard, over his hand, the wall, his stomach and watching it all wash down the drain as he panted for breath. He tipped his face up and closed his eyes as the water washed away any last traces of sweat and semen, then stepped back out of the shower, feeling considerably more relaxed.

 

He dried and pulled on his clothes again, before heading back down to set the table and complete the final preparation before cooking.

 

 

Mycroft let himself in the door and sniffed. Then he smiled, propping his umbrella in the stand, placing his coat on a hanger and removing his shoes. He padded through to the kitchen and stepped up behind Lestrade, who had slapped two steaks into the pan as he heard Mycroft's key in the lock.

 

"Mmm," Mycroft said, looking over Lestrade's shoulder. "Looks delicious." He planted a kiss on Lestrade's neck, noting the dampness of his hair.

 

"Should be ready in about ten minutes," Lestrade smiled. "Wine's open, if you want."

 

"Ah, lovely," Mycroft poured himself a glass and topped up the one he noted held only dregs – slightly dried dregs, at that.

 

He sat at the table, relaxed, and watched as Lestrade moved around, adding ingredients, making the meat sizzle in the pan, steaming some vegetables, eating one green bean raw as he did so. He enjoyed it, taking in the casual shirt, un-tucked from Lestrade's jeans, and his bare feet.

 

"Did you enjoy your day off?" Mycroft asked, and Lestrade turned to look at him, surprise in his wide eyes, as if his attention had been on something else to such an extent he'd forgotten that Mycroft was there.

 

"Um, yes. I mean, just cleaned, did a bit of paperwork, y'know."

 

Mycroft nodded. "Nothing…exciting?"

 

Lestrade swallowed. "Um, no, not really."

 

Mycroft stood again, and Lestrade turned as he approached. He crowded Lestrade into the worktop. "Really." He pressed a kiss onto Lestrade's mouth, and Lestrade returned the kiss. "So you didn't choose to shower in the late afternoon because you wanted to…ah…pleasure yourself?" And he slid a hand down Lestrade's front.

 

"I…how…maybe," Lestrade stuttered.

 

"Your hair is still wet, you smell of shower gel, there is a slight hint of steam in the hallway, from our bathroom. Yet you haven't been to work today, so it's unlikely you needed to shower for cleanliness, and you've put the same clothes back on as you wore this morning. And you do have a certain predilection for taking care of your needs whilst showering."

 

Lestrade gave a small smile. "Yeah, I confess. Was just…thinking about you," he answered.

 

"Perhaps you should have waited. I would have enjoyed helping you out with your particular…problem."

 

"Yeah, well, I might have a few years on you, but y'know, I can still just about manage twice in a day," he blushed.

 

"Mmm," Mycroft kissed him again. "We shall see." He let Lestrade go, watching as he turned back to the cooking.

 

 

 

Lestrade dished out what he'd been cooking and put it down in front of Mycroft, topping up their glasses again.

 

"Hope it's okay?" he asked.

 

Mycroft nodded, taking in the steak, peppercorn sauce and all the sides, and imagining just what it would do to his diet. "Wonderful," he said, resolving to eat nothing but Ryvita for the rest of the week.

 

 

They ate and chatted about various events in the day's news, Lestrade working out if any of it might drag Mycroft out of the country anytime soon. Then Lestrade cleared away the plates, then held out his hand, pulling Mycroft up and toward the sofa. As the evening progressed Lestrade managed to stay relaxed, sprawled over Mycroft. And as Paxman wrapped up the end of Newsnight Lestrade turned and began kissing Mycroft. His hands roamed over Mycroft's body, and he smiled when he felt Mycroft responding.

 

"So, want to see how your old man can do?" he teased, pushing himself up off the sofa.

 

Mycroft allowed himself to be led through the house, up the stairs, admiring the view of Lestrade's backside encased in denim and wondering what had brought on his lover's sudden insatiability.

 

Lestrade kissed Mycroft, undoing the many buttons he had to get through to undress him. He ignored Mycroft turning off the light, knowing where he'd put everything, having planned for exactly that. Once they were both naked he allowed Mycroft to lie on the bed, and he crawled over him, straddling his hips, bending over him to plant kisses on his chest and neck. He felt Mycroft's cock, already half hard, against his stomach as he leant forward. And then, in one swift movement, honed to perfection by years of restraining violent criminals, he pulled his handcuffs from under his pillow, secured Mycroft's first wrist and grabbed the second before Mycroft had even begun to react. His heart was beating fast when he realised he'd managed it – Mycroft was cuffed, the most difficult part of his plan complete. Well, he corrected himself, the most difficult part that he had any control of. His next obstacle was Mycroft's brain, and that really was unknown territory.

 

"Gregory?" Mycroft's voice was amused, and even in the dark Lestrade could imagine just exactly the expression he was pulling – one eyebrow lifted, a slight smile. It could go either way now – an indulgent smile, one Lestrade saw often. Or it could slip into a cold mask of anger.

 

"I just thought you deserved a bit of…" Lestrade found himself lost for words. "I thought…we could…well, you should let me take control, for a bit. And…"

 

Mycroft nodded, once. But there wasn't a smile, yet.

 

Lestrade pushed Mycroft's arms up above his head, kissing him again, as a thank you and a promise and so much more. He pulled out a long silk bondage tie and took his time to wrap the material around Mycroft's wrist, securing it with a knot, then moved to the other wrist, doing the same. Finally he tied both ends of the material around the head of the bed, making sure the knots were tight, but also easily undoable. Then he removed the handcuffs, putting them aside.

 

"Comfortable?" he asked.

 

"Indeed," Mycroft answered.

 

Lestrade lay next to him, sliding his palm from Mycroft's thigh, up his torso and over one stretched arm. "Mmmm, beautiful," he said. "Feeling you stretched out, tied up, all mine."

 

He let his hand skim back down, feeling the slight dip below Mycroft's ribcage, then the smooth tautness of skin between ribs and hip. He shifted, moving down the bed to press open-mouthed kisses on the skin, allowing one hand to slip lower, to stroke gentle fingertips over Mycroft's thighs.

 

"God, I wish I could see you," he murmured, dipping his tongue into Mycroft's navel. "Wish I could see your beautiful body."

 

"Greg…" Mycroft's tone was slightly warning.

 

"Please, let me," he crawled back up the bed, lying with one arm over Mycroft's waist, propped up on the other. "Please, I want to see you," he leant in for a kiss, before Mycroft could answer and allowed his hand to reach down and gently slide over Mycroft's balls before reaching up to grip his erection.

 

He gave Mycroft a few strokes, then quickly rolled away, across the room in two strides, lights flicked on, making him squint as his eyes adjusted. And then he was back on the bed, looking into Mycroft's angry face.

 

"Gregory, turn them off – I'm serious, turn the lights off."

 

"No," Lestrade didn't move, his hand still stroking across Mycroft's belly, but his gaze firmly on Mycroft's blue eyes. "Myc, you're beautiful, and I want to see every inch of you – every single bit of your body."

 

"Don't be ridiculous. Untie me."

 

"No, because you won't ever let me do this again – Christ, for all I know you'll chuck me onto the street the minute I undo those. So for now, you're going to lie there, and let me do what I've wanted to do since I met you."

 

"I wouldn't…Please, if you feel for me, untie me and turn off the lights."

 

"I do feel for you – and that's why it hurts me every time you imply you're ugly, or too fat, or that I shouldn't be able to love you however you are, whatever you look like. Christ, Myc, you're the most perfect man I've ever met."

 

"You're being absurd."

 

Lestrade moved, straddling Mycroft's hips, noting that his erection had softened. "Look at me," he said. "I'm the one with the gut, the grey hair – does it mean you don't want me? Because looking at you, all I can think if how much I love you, and how much I want you. See?" he stroked his own erection, letting his gaze drag over Mycroft's body, from fingers to belly.

 

Mycroft remained silent, but his eyes did flicker down to glance at Lestrade's erection, before resuming their stony glare.

 

Lestrade bent forward, kissing down Mycroft's chest, moving to lick across each nipple, then blow a stream of cool air, making the flesh pucker and tighten. He shifted, kissing down Mycroft's body, following the line of soft hair, spending longer lavishing kisses and licks and nuzzling his face against the slightly softer skin over Mycroft's belly. Then he moved lower still, dragging his lips over the soft skin on Mycroft's hips closing his eyes as he enjoyed every sensation – the smell, the touch, even the sound of his rough stubble rubbing over Mycroft's skin.

 

Finally he sat back on his heels, looking at Mycroft unashamedly, the pale skin, light freckles and hair, and the stiffening cock.

 

He reached for his pillow, leaning over Mycroft, and grabbed it.

 

"Lift your head," he said, and when Mycroft complied, he shoved the pillow underneath him, propping him up. "And try to enjoy being able to see what we're doing – please, just try."

 

He kissed his way back down Mycroft's body and slid the tip of Mycroft's cock between his lips, tongue working to tease the slit, slide inside the soft foreskin, swirling around, then sliding more into his mouth.

 

He glanced up, and met Mycroft's gaze, blue eyes watching as Lestrade's lips slid down his rigid shaft, then back up, leaving it wet with spit. Lestrade closed his eyes again, moaning softly, sucking gently, so when he let the head slip from between his lips there was a gentle sucking noise. He dipped his head lower, allowing his tongue to lap gently at the soft balls, nose buried in the soft juncture between leg and body. He sucked and nibbled his way back up Mycroft's dick, using just a hint of teeth to scrape over the gentle flesh, quickly soothed by more licks.

 

As he let the head of Mycroft's push between his lips again he moved, closing his hand around the shaft, gripping it and moving in the same rhythm, head and hand. He heard Mycroft let out a shaky sigh, and he could see the skin on his scrotum tightening.

 

He pulled away again, but was unable to stop himself dipping his head to drop gentle, sucking kisses onto the tip, sucking on the silky-soft foreskin. Then he crawled back up Mycroft, until his own erection was bumping teasingly against Mycroft's. Mycroft moved his hips, obviously trying to increase the sensation, the friction.

 

"You're so gorgeous," Lestrade whispered, voice husky. "I don't have the words…just so fucking beautiful," and he kissed Mycroft, his lips wet, a very slight hint of pre-come giving them a slightly salt taste. He gave in for just a second, and let his hips press down on Mycroft's, pushing against him, gently rocking them together.

 

He reached to the bedside table and pumped the bottle of lube, a cool dollop landing on his fingers, all whilst still kissing Mycroft. Then he reached behind himself, sliding his fingers over his hole, pushing the tip of first one, then two, inside, spreading the lube around, trying to concentrate as his mouth worked over Mycroft's jaw and neck.

 

Finally he moved his knees up to Mycroft's hips, reaching between them and coating Mycroft's erection in lube with a few slow, slick strokes.

 

Then he shifted again, lining them up, and sank down onto Mycroft's cock.

 

The noise Mycroft made was gratifying, and the thrust of his hips even more so, as it drove another inch or so of hot, hard flesh into Lestrade.

 

"You're…" he panted, despite barely having done anything. "You feel…tight, God," Mycroft breathed, obviously fighting for control.

 

Lestrade took pity on him, sinking down further, lost in the pleasure of the smooth slide of flesh over his sensitive nerve endings. He heard himself making a noise, and splayed his hands out over Mycroft's belly, wanting to touch every bit of the man beneath him. He breathed, steadying himself, and finally he was sitting snug on Mycroft's hips, and he squeezed his muscles, eliciting a groan and thrust from Mycroft.

 

He looked down, to see Mycroft's eyes closed.

 

"Open your eyes," he ordered. "Look at me."

 

Mycroft obeyed, and Lestrade thought one good turn probably deserved another.

 

"Want me to free your wrists?" he offered, lifting himself very slightly and allowing Mycroft's trembling muscles to push up, back into him.

 

"Yes, please, yes," Mycroft's words tumbled out, and his hips didn't stop moving, only held by Lestrade's weight on him, meaning he could only manage short, quick strokes.

 

Lestrade leant forward, and Mycroft lifted his knees to compensate, allowing Lestrade's movement to pull him almost all the way out before driving home again, cock sliding deliciously.

 

Lestrade tugged on the free ends of the silk, and it unravelled easily, leaving Mycroft's wrists tied together, but free of the bed head.

 

Mycroft immediately reached for him, first pulling him down for a kiss, fingers threading through the grey hair as his hips drove into Lestrade over and over, swallowing the noises Lestrade was trying to make. Then trailing down, pushing between their bodies, and using the silky fabric to trap Lestrade's cock, his hands slipping over the layers, making Lestrade arch back and seem to somehow take even more of his length inside.

 

Lestrade wanted to tip his head back, close his eyes, and just enjoy the sensations, but that wasn't what the night had been about.

 

He controlled himself, kept his gaze firmly on Mycroft, his hands on Mycroft's belly, and even when one of Mycroft's hands moved to his hip, to drag him down, hold him still whilst he pushed in, over and over, he still kept his eyes firmly fixed on Mycroft.

 

"Oh, Gre…" Mycroft panted, losing all control, every muscle in his body, taut and quivering, and Lestrade watched as his eyes rolled back in his head, as the final, long, deep thrusts signalled his release.

 

Lestrade couldn't resist then, he kept one hand on Mycroft, wrapped the other around himself, and with the ease of long practice, a few strokes and he was done, semen splashing across Mycroft's belly and chest, some of it coating his hand, Mycroft's hands, the silk, and he heard Mycroft moan as the strong muscles inside him gave already-sensitive flesh an extra squeeze.

 

He finally got his breath back, and gently picked the last knots apart, freeing Mycroft completely.

 

 

He bent over for one last kiss before moving off Mycroft, walking on slightly shaky legs to the bathroom, giving himself a cursory clean-up and returning with a damp flannel and a towel, holding both out to Mycroft. And once Mycroft took them, he also held out the handcuffs and ties.

 

"Yours now – to do whatever you like with. Although the Met would probably like the cuffs back, at some point."

 

"Gregory," Mycroft beckoned him closer, and once Lestrade was on the bed, Mycroft twitched the covers over them and held Lestrade in a loose embrace, pressing a kiss into his hair. Lestrade waited for more, but nothing came. A silence settled over the room, and he began to worry.

 

 

*********

 

 

Lestrade had been afraid of…well, he wasn't sure. He didn't know how he'd expected Mycroft to react, but when there didn't seem to be any reaction at all, he found it terrifying.

 

He was almost surprised, three days later, when, as he brushed his teeth before bed, Mycroft stood behind him, running gentle fingers over his naked stomach, feathering touches around the top of his waistband.

 

He spat the last of the toothpaste out of his mouth, rinsed and turned to press a minty kiss against Mycroft's mouth.

 

Once they were in the bedroom his heart sank as Mycroft firmly turned the lights off before approaching the bed. But he'd tried, he'd done all he could to convince the man – short of actually resorting to re-wiring Mycroft's magnificent brain, he wasn't sure what more he could do.

 

And then, as Mycroft moved closer, hands sliding over Lestrade's chest, lips finding his mouth in the darkness, he reached off to the side and there was a gentle 'click', and a soft glow bathed them both in light.

 

He glanced to the low-wattage bulb on the new bedside light, and then back at Mycroft, hair highlighted, every contour of his body visible, albeit picked out in soft luminescence and deep shadow.

 

"I thought…a compromise?" Mycroft said, softly.

 

Lestrade grabbed him, rolled him over and kissed him hard.

 

~Fin


End file.
